


Campaign

by Jothowrote



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU, Dungeons and Dragons AU, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, M/M, RQBB 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 14:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20175865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jothowrote/pseuds/Jothowrote
Summary: Jon dies in the fight against Orsinov's undead circus, and Elias' revivify leaves his body alive but fails to bring back his mind. Meanwhile his assistants at Castle Magnus are fracturing under the strain of their head cleric being imprisoned, their High Wizard sleeping as though dead, and the arrival of a new lord intent on running the Castle.And a necromantic threat grows in the mountains...TMA characters in a dungeons and dragons fantasy world.Wonderful art by Saphizzle: https://saphizzle.tumblr.com/post/186904576323/pilesofnonsense-boy-this-took-some-time-heres





	Campaign

**Author's Note:**

> My AU fic for the RQBB! This was very difficult to write, for some reason, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Please go and shower my wonderful artist with love! Saphizzle's art is amazing and gave me incentive to struggle throught the severe writer's block I suffered with while writing this fic! (https://saphizzle.tumblr.com/post/186904576323/pilesofnonsense-boy-this-took-some-time-heres)
> 
> I kept it loosely related to D&D 5e, since I didn't want to get too bogged down in the rules.

_  
‘You will let her go or I will gut you where you stand,’ Daisy snarled into Elias’ smug face._

_‘I hardly think that you would do something so rash,’ he said, his voice oozing self-satisfaction, ‘as that would spell death for your Basira too.’_

_Daisy growled right into his face again, but hurried footsteps and panting breaths announced another arrival into Elias’ office._

_‘Daisy, don’t,’ Jon’s voice said from the doorway, wheezy from unaccustomed exercise and panic. ‘He’s telling the truth.’_

_Daisy looked over her shoulder at him, frowning. Jon was slumped against the doorframe, one hand clutching his heaving chest like some fainting maiden, but his face was pale and serious._

_She grunted and released her grip on the front of Elias’ clerical robes. He fell to the floor, sliding down the wall she had held him against._

_‘Right. Now we can talk about all this in a more civilised manner,’ Elias said as he got to his feet and adjusted his clothing. Daisy took a few steps back, staring between Elias and Jon with her eyes flashing in anger._

_‘Jon…’_

_‘I can prove it,’ Jon said hurriedly. ‘You can make him tell the truth, right?’_

_‘That’s hardly necessary, Jon,’ Elias said, rolling his eyes. ‘I have nothing to hide, after all.’_

_‘That’s debatable,’ Jon frowned. ‘But he’s not lying, Daisy. Not about this.’_

_‘Why would your death affect Basira?’ Daisy asked Elias. Elias raised an eyebrow._

_‘Straight into it, then? No time for a relaxing cup of tea, perhaps?’_

_Daisy’s snarl ripped from her throat almost subconsciously._

_‘No, apparently not,’ Elias said. ‘At least sit down; you’re making the place look untidy. Jon – you might as well stay, since you know most of it already.’_

_Jon, who had been trying to sneak out of the office, reluctantly slunk back inside, and after a nod from Elias, shut the door behind himself. Elias settled himself down in his large chair, across his wide desk, steepled his fingers, and smiled at Daisy._

_‘Tonner. Would you like to sit?’_

_Daisy did not sit down._

_‘Right.’ Elias cleared his throat. ‘To business. You know, of course, that your fellow paladin, Basira, broke her oath and was no longer with your Huntress.’_

_Daisy nodded tightly._

_‘Well, then.’ Elias smiled, all teeth, nothing in his eyes. ‘It’s really quite simple. She’s not here against her will – she’s sworn a new oath to the Allfather.’_

_Daisy blanched – but when she looked at Jon, his face was drawn and pale and resigned._

_‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘Basira is now part of the church of the Allfather.’_

_‘And in fact, her oath is to protect the Allfather’s followers,’ Elias said. ‘Which of course includes me.’_

_‘And?’_

_‘And if I die, she breaks her oath according to what she promised the Allfather when her powers were restored,’ Elias said, his voice silky-smooth. ‘If you kill me, she breaks another oath. And my god doesn’t just take away powers when an oath is broken.’_

_‘Her life would be forfeit,’ Jon said, sighing heavily again._

_Elias’ smug face was asking for a punch. So Daisy gave it what it asked for._

_In the flurry of movement following, she lost track of her surroundings as the bloodlust momentarily overcame her. When she could focus again, she was being held back by Jon, Tim, and Melanie as her body fought towards Elias, who was getting to his feet and wiping blood from his mouth._

_He smiled at her with red teeth._

_‘Did that feel good, Daisy?’_

_She snarled again, even as she was dragged away._

__  
*

The others had left only an hour before, but Martin wanted to give himself as much time as possible to search Elias’ office. The cleric had no doubt hidden his greatest secrets with strong magic, and Martin knew it would take a great deal of effort to uncover them.

Elias’ office was surprisingly messy. Martin had always seen Elias as completely in control. Even heading off the fight the circus of the undead, he had looked clean and sharp in his robes. When the castle had been attacked by the mad druid Prentiss and her needle blights, Elias had emerged with barely a scratch.

There was no point in rummaging around by hand. Martin knew that, at least. So he settled himself down in the middle of the room and set out his components, centred himself, closed his eyes, gathered up his strength, and cast his spells.

Five hours later and he was no closer to finding anything incriminating about the enigmatic priest, but he was lying exhausted on the tasteful rug and feeling rung out.

He didn’t know how long he had left. It was only a few hours’ ride to where the circus had set up camp, encroaching close into the castle’s environs. They could still be fighting. They could already be heading back.

They could all be dead, and everything Martin did would be pointless anyway.

He pushed aside such dark thoughts, and tried again to cast the seeking spell.

As it had all the other times, it fizzled into nothingness even as he spoke the words, performed the actions, producing nothing except a damp squib of a noise and some faint sparks in the air.

Martin slumped to the floor again. He knew he would fail. He wasn’t the strongest wizard at the castle. Even Jon, technically his boss but much more suited to the academic aspects of magic than the actual casting of it, could cast better than he could.

But they’d sent their best out to fight the necromancer Orsinov, and Martin was what was left to try and root out the spreading rot in Castle Magnus – the rot they all knew had to be related to the cleric who had taken over so smoothly after Lord Magnus had vanished without a trace.

‘I can’t do this,’ Martin said, quietly, to the ceiling of Elias’ office. ‘I’m sorry, Jon,’ he whispered.

Staring at the ceiling, desperately running through all the spells he knew, Martin wondered abstractly what would happen when the others got back and he told them he had failed.

_If_ they came back.

Perhaps, Martin mused, Orsinov would do them all a favour and kill Elias in the fight.

But that was so unlikely as to be almost impossible. Elias, as their cleric and best healer, would no doubt be standing well clear of the actual fight, in case of friendly fire. And it would be Basira and Daisy and Tim and Melanie and… and Jon… in the thick of it.

They were all fighting Orsinov and her undead puppets, and here he was, unable to cast even the simplest locator spell effectively.

‘He must be hiding something in here,’ Martin muttered, still lying on his back. ‘He _must_ be.’

He could feel the panic rising – part fear for the others, part fear of failing – and he closed his eyes, and counted slowly down from ten, and tried to calm his breathing. Meditation was something he picked up from monks at the temple where he’d grown up. He’d hated it as a kid, full of energy and constantly on the go, but now, with the hindsight one gets from age, he found it exceedingly useful for moments of panic or stress.

And as he breathed, and moved his awareness into his body, and felt his muscles relax, he became aware of the resonance of magic in the air around him.

The castle was always rich with magic – it was full of those researching ancient mysteries, after all – and the background hum of it was something he could sense when he entered a meditative state.

He sat up, sharply, his soothing breaths forgotten.

There was a discordant note among the chimes. A dark, low twang that rang sharp and wrong. It felt almost… malevolent.

He stood, looking around, still with the hum in his ears. The dark area of discord was coming from an innocuous-looking shelf of books in the corner of Elias’ study. Martin walked towards it slowly, one hand outstretched.

At a touch of his fingertips there was a pulse of magic and the shelf – disappeared. An illusion. Behind it was a door in the wall, a small safe made out of an unusual dark metal that caught the light in strange glittering facets. It was locked. Around it was a strange dark miasma of spells, ones Elias had wreathed around his safe as traps for people, like him, looking for Elias’ secrets. He reached out a glowing hand and brushed the dark fog away. It felt strangely easy and natural, not like any spell he’d ever learnt - they always felt more like squeezing blood from a stone.

‘Sasha!’ he called. ‘I’ve found it!’

‘You have?’ she said, poking her head around the door from where she had been keeping watch. ‘Took you long enough,’ she ribbed good-naturedly, ‘I was falling asleep out here!’

‘It’s some kind of safe, hidden by illusion magic,’ he said, peering at it. ‘Mundane lock, from what I can tell. No magical traps that I can see.’

‘Let me have a look,’ she said, nudging him aside and pulling out her tools. Martin went to stand by the door as she fiddled with the lock, muttering and cursing to herself as she picked at it. The corridor outside was empty, as Martin had expected, but with every second he expected to hear the sounds of the others returning.

A loud click, followed by the creak of unused hinges, made him dart back into the office. He shut the door carefully behind him.

‘I’ve got it,’ Sasha said, a little unnecessarily, standing as she was next to the open safe door. ‘Funny,’ she mused. ‘I would have thought there would be more protection on it.’

‘I removed as much as I could,’ Martin said, walking over to peer inside the safe. ‘But I don’t doubt that Elias already knows we’ve opened it.’

Sasha shivered.

The discordant note in the air was louder now, making him wince. There were papers inside the safe. Yellowing papers with curling dark-brown script across them.

And there, on top of them, lay Gertrude’s arcane focus.

Martin reached in, as the strange ethereal music grew louder, and took.

*

Martin paced the courtyard anxiously, while the paladins of the Huntress stared at the castle’s portcullis in stony silence.

‘They’ve been too long,’ he said, wringing his hands. ‘Something must have happened. Something’s gone wrong.’

‘They’ll be back,’ Sasha said, confidently. ‘Maybe they were stalling, to give us some time.’

‘For this long?’

Sasha had taken the papers and Gertrude’s focus that they’d found in Elias’ study and run them down to town as fast as she could. Martin had attempted to cast haste on her, and wasn’t sure that he’d been entirely successful, though she was too polite to tell him that it hadn’t worked.

The temple of the Huntress, still somewhat peeved with the castle, and Elias specifically, for essentially stealing two of their finest paladins, had been only too happy to be presented with evidence of wrongdoing. From what Sasha said, they barely glanced at the papers or the focus before saddling up and riding out.

They’d confiscated the papers, though, to Martin’s disappointment. He hadn’t had a chance to look very closely at what exactly Elias was doing.

But it had been almost two hours since Sasha had arrived, windswept, on the back of one of the paladin’s horses, and there was still no sign of the party.

‘Something’s happened,’ Martin said, shaking his head, pacing more furiously. ‘I can feel it.’

It wasn’t until sunset when they heard the sounds of horses on the road beyond. They waited with bated breath as the group drew nearer; they were moving slower than usual, and the reason why became apparent when the first horses trotted inside the gate and were followed by a circus wagon.

Tim was riding ahead on his own horse; he rode right up to Martin and Sasha and swung off. Sasha immediately launched herself into his arms, crying out in relief.

‘You’re alive! You made it!’

Tim’s eyes met Martin’s over Sasha’s shoulder. Tim’s face was sooty and smudged, and he looked gravely at Martin.

Then the wagon drew to a stop, and Elias stepped gracefully out, and the paladins sprang into action.

‘What’s this?’ Elias asked, unperturbed, as his arms were shackled.

‘You killed Gertrude,’ Martin said, his voice steady even as his hands shook. He folded his arms. ‘And we found evidence of your dark arts.’

‘You found something?’ Tim asked, amazing, drawing back from Sasha and staring at Martin. ‘You found proof?’

‘Try not to sound too surprised,’ Martin said.

‘Sorry,’ Tim said, with a little smile. ‘Good job, Martin.’

Basira and Daisy clambered down from the wagon as Elias was being taken away; they both looked just as filthy as Tim, ashen and pale. 

‘You did it, then? You destroyed the circus?’ Sasha asked.

Martin scanned the faces, all with the same grave look. Melanie climbed off her own horse with a defeated set to her shoulders.

‘We did,’ Basira said.

Martin felt his momentary triumph sour and grow stale in his mouth.

‘Where’s Jon,’ he breathed.

*

Jon was lost in the dark.

He couldn’t remember how he came to be in the dark. He couldn’t remember where he should have been instead. Sometimes he couldn’t remember his name.

He had a body – sometimes, at least, he thought he did, or how else would he be moving through the darkness? And he was surely moving through it, because the quality of the darkness would change, slow and steady like scenery from the window of a moving wagon.

It wasn’t just darkness, and he was almost sure that he wasn’t alone. He saw shapes in the void, shapes of things he could almost recall. Rooms full of books, faces he knew he must have known.

_Jon_.

Just as he forgot his name he would hear it, so quiet as to be barely a whisper but loud in his mind like a peal of a bell.

_Jon_.

*

Martin marched up to the unassuming wooden door in the corner of the library. Then he stared at it for five minutes as all his gathered courage drained away. And then he turned and shuffled back to his desk, feeling wretched.

There was a snort from his right, and he turned to see Tim lounging in a chair, legs up on his own desk, lute across his thighs.

‘You saw all that, then?’

‘Yup,’ Tim said, strumming the lute. ‘Just go up. It’s not like he’ll even know you’re there.’

Martin frowned down at the controlled chaos in front of him, digging an important book from beneath pages of his scribbled notes.

‘It’s…’ he began. ‘That’s…’ he tried again. The words dried up from his mouth as soon as he opened it.

Tim sighed heavily. Martin could practically feel his pity, and he hated it.

‘It’s not your fault,’ he said. `We all knew it would be dangerous. And besides, you had your own dangerous work to do.’

‘Hardly dangerous,’ Martin said, not looking up at Tim.

There was silence apart from Tim’s lute as Martin tried to focus on his work. The words swam in front of his eyes and his mind drifted constantly to thinking about the small room at the top of the west tower. His eyes found their way back to the wooden door.

Later, as the light faded outside and the few other inhabitants of the library began to pack up their work, Tim stretched and yawned.

‘A couple of us are heading to the Bell for some drinks,’ he said. ‘You coming?’

‘Nah,’ Martin said, tearing his gaze away from the door. ‘I… I have to get this finished.’

‘Don’t work too late,’ Tim said, waving as he left, lute over one shoulder.

Martin was alone in the library. He stared at the door.

It felt like the door was staring back.

He took a deep breath. He centred himself, focussed on his breathing, just as he’d done in Elias’s office on the fateful day the circus had come to town.

The air rang with sound and shone with light. From high above, he could hear a tremulous note that, though quieter than the rest, rang pure and sweet, as though from far away.

Martin followed it through the door and all the way up the spiral staircase to the room at the very top of the western tower. To where Jon’s body lay, alive and breathing and still, as though in a magical sleep.

His body that had been brought back by Elias’ revivify, perfectly healthy but apparently without his mind.

It was uncanny, sitting there beside Jon’s body, as he looked to be only sleeping. His chest rose and fell regularly, his skin was warm to the touch, and occasionally – just occasionally – his eyes twitched behind his lids.

He had not woken for two months, and he looked exactly the same as he had done when they had first carried him up the narrow spiral stairs to his room at the very top of the westernmost tower of Castle Magnus.

Martin held Jon’s hand with a bravery he had not managed to muster back when Jon had been awake, and updated him about what he had missed.

‘Elias is being held at the temple of the Huntress,’ he said, idly smoothing out Jon’s sheets with his free hand. ‘Daisy and Basira aren’t exactly their favourite people anymore, but they are still willing to dispense justice. I don’t like going to see him,’ Martin admitted, in a small voice. ‘He makes me feel… uncomfortable.’

The first and only time Martin had gone to see Elias, high priest of the Allfather and castellan of Castle Magnus in Lord Magnus’ absence, Elias had smiled and congratulated him on his progress.

Martin had fled the room and not gone back since.

The castle was certainly more… peaceful, now the threatening presence of Elias no longer lurked on the second floor. But having lost both Elias and Jon, the rest of them were left to flutter around somewhat aimlessly, stuck in a strange kind of stasis, waiting for something to happen.

Tim, with his usual pessimism, was waiting for Elias to wriggle his way out of jail and re-instantiate himself as de facto king of the castle. 

Martin – well, Martin was waiting for Jon to wake up.

‘Please, Jon,’ he said, softly, squeezing his hand. ‘Wherever you are – wherever you’ve gone – come back to us. I… _we_ need you.’

Jon lay there, as silent and still as ever.

*

In amidst the usual visitors to the castle – the ones who ask for their son’s sword to be charmed so that it will be stronger and surer in a fight, or for their scythes to last longer before their blades dull on the harvest – a lord rode into the courtyard.

The man is clearly a lord, though Martin had never seen him before, because he sat astride a huge destrier and wore fine clothes and armour emblazoned with his family crest.

It was not a crest that Martin recognised either, though Tim looked it up quickly in the Roll of Arms and discovered it to be belonging to the Lukas family.

The crest unsettled Martin, though he couldn’t quite work out why.

The man – Lord Peter Lukas, as he introduced himself with an enigmatic smile – asked to speak to the person in charge.

‘That would be me,’ Tim said, stepping forward. Martin said nothing, though technically he and Tim were of equal standing. He didn’t want to have to do the talking.

‘Ah. Excellent. Well, you have no need to labour under that burden any longer; I have arrived to take up my post.’ He grinned, and Martin flinched back. ‘If you wouldn’t mind showing me to my rooms.’

‘You?’ Tim said, his mouth turned down in a moue of displeasure. 

Lord Peter Lukas smiled wider, though it never reached his eyes.

‘Yes; me,’ he said, his voice warm and affable and completely at odds with his cold eyes. ‘It is written into the laws of the castle that should Lord Magnus be gone and his second-in-command also… indisposed,’ and there Lukas turned to look directly at Martin, still smiling that strange, false smile, ‘then the Lord of the nearby estate – me – would take over until such time as either return. And since no one has seen not hide nor hair of Lord Magnus in almost ten years, and the high priest is currently unable to complete his duties from within a dungeon, it looks as though you will be given the pleasure of my company for the foreseeable future.’

He turned back to Tim with that affable, fake smile still in place.

‘Don’t worry,’ Lukas continued, as Tim looked a little mutinous. ‘I’ll be very… hands off. Though, I will need an assistant to help me get started. Blackwood, was it?’ He clicked his fingers imperiously in Martin’s direction.

Martin swallowed and nodded. 

‘You’ll do. Follow me.’

And Lukas strode off into the castle proper, apparently not needing to be shown the way to Elias’ old rooms at all.

Tim and Martin shared a look before Martin scurried after him.

Two hours later, after warning the others of the new arrival and drawing straws, Martin and his short straw made their way down into town and to the temple of the Huntress. The temple itself was simply built and spartan, though it crowned the largest hill in the centre of town, and was constructed entirely of shining white marble. Beneath it, built into the hill, were its dungeons for all those who broke the law in the town of Llwndin. When Martin looked towards it and focused, he could hear the gentle bells and chimes that heralded divine magic.

The paladins at the columned entrance, wearing shining silvery armour emblazoned with the bow and arrow of the Huntress, did not look pleased to see him. The larger one spoke before Martin managed to open his mouth.

‘He’s expecting you,’ she said, scowling, stepping back to let him pass.

Martin shivered as he walked inside, unrelated to the coolness of the temple’s interior. He was led to the dungeon where Elias was kept, keeping his hands clutched together so that they wouldn’t betray his shaking.

Elias looked happy to see him.

‘Martin!’ he cried, as the paladins ushered Martin into the small room. On the other side of strong, magic-enchanted bars, Elias sat on his single chair as though it were a throne. The rest of his prison room was bare rock, with a bed roughly hewn into the side of the wall. There were plenty of blankets. Martin wondered who Elias had bribed or sweet-talked for those. None of the paladins were very likely to give him the time of day after he essentially kidnapped one of their own and tricked her into breaking her oath.

‘You have five minutes,’ the paladin said gruffly, before leaving the room.

Martin could feel his face sweating.

‘Come now, Martin,’ Elias said, ‘no need to be nervous. Where’s all that bravery from when you had me arrested? Where has your strength gone? I have to admit, you surprised me.’

‘Your replacement’s arrived. Lord Lukas,’ Martin said, trying to get directly to the point. ‘Is he working for you?’

Elias chuckled, and shook his leg. The manacle and chains clanked in response.

‘He’s merely fulfilling the criteria left to us by Lord Magnus’ decree,’ Elias shrugged. ‘He no more serves my ends than you do.’

‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’

‘Unless you’ve learnt some truth spells in the time I’ve been gone, you can’t,’ Elias said, shrugging delicately. ‘Not that you are capable of such magic. I know how you struggle with even the simplest of spells.’

‘I got into your safe,’ Martin pointed out.

‘Yes.’ Elias tapped his chin thoughtfully. ‘You surprised me, I’ll admit. I hadn’t seen that in you.’

‘You couldn’t see it?’

‘To be honest? I didn’t bother to look.’

Elias smiled wide – it was all teeth. Martin couldn’t stop himself from shrinking back. Even behind bars, Elias made his heart beat fast with terror.

‘Ah, but all that bravery seems to have escaped you now. What brought that on? The loss of your beloved Jon?’

‘You could have saved him!’ Martin shouted. ‘You could… you could have healed him!’

‘I revivified him,’ Elias said. ‘I did as much as I could. The rest… well.’ He chuckled again. ‘The rest is up to him.’

*

Jon opened his eyes, and he was barricading himself in his study as needle blights shot their spikes at the closing oak doors. He was watching Tim launch himself out to reach Sasha, who had no idea that Prentiss and her dark druids had overcome the castle in her absence, both he and Martin reaching out to drag him back.

He was running through the halls of the castle, flinging ineffective flame bolts behind him at the blights as he went, Martin running beside him. When he looked behind, he saw Prentiss, decay already plain in her face, as she brought forth even more blights from the ground.

He was in his study while the blights hammered at the door, picking spines out of his arms and face, Martin showing him how to pull and twist so that the small barbs at their tip didn’t catch in his skin and rip it further.

He was being half-dragged, half-carried by Tim through the servant passages where the blights couldn’t reach them, wondering where Martin had gone, pain and panic so wrapped up in his mind he could barely think of anything else.

He was up in the mountains, the wind tearing at his robes, as he watched what he thought was Sasha melt into a figure he didn’t know, its smile wide and leering. Tim looked on, his face wracked with despair.

He was searching through the doppelgänger’s den, after weeks of casting location spells and failed scrying, after enlisting Daisy and Basira on their hunt. He heard Tim’s shout, and they all hurried towards the sound to see Sasha, chained to the wall, dirty and gaunt but alive.

He was standing in his own study, an ancient book clutched in his arms, the dead body of Jurgen Leitner sprawled across his rug, panic coursing through his veins.

He was in a circus tent, surrounded by the undead as they lurched towards him, watching Orsinov’s mad, grinning face coming closer. Over her shoulder he could see the others, far enough away. Tim looked angry, angrier than he remembered. The others did, too, angry and scared and hopeless.

Elias, though. He looked triumphant.

And Jon remembered closing his eyes and summoning up all the vestiges of his magic, pulling bat guano and sulphur from his pockets, and casting fireball downwards at his feet.

And the world around him turned blinding white.

The light faded slowly, leaving him in profound darkness. He wasn’t sure if he was sitting or standing. He wasn’t sure if he had a body at all. He existed as nothingness, in an endless void. A collection of traumas and memories, playing again and again.

He floated in the darkness, adrift.

And then the first of the eyes opened.

The first one was huge, immense beyond all his comprehension. He floated before it, feeling strangely like he should be terrified, but not feeling anything at all.

Then the second eye opened, further punctuating the darkness, and the third, and the fourth, until he was surrounded by eyes. They were all unblinking – all staring straight at him. Through him. They stared to the heart of him.

They were all different, but he knew they were all the same.

It spoke to him. Not out loud, but into the heart of him that it had already opened from the focus of its stare.

_Let me look through you, and you will awaken_, it said.

_Are you Elias’ god_? He asked.

_Let me look through you, and you will awaken_, it repeated.

_And if I say no_? He asked.

_You will not awaken_.

Later, Jon would like to say he thought through the offer for a long time. That he mulled over his choice. That he debated whether living was worth the price, that he thought of the others, at the castle, who needed him.

And it wasn’t entirely a lie. A thought flashed through his mind, briefly, a flash of an image. Martin, holding his hand, telling him that he was needed.

But in truth, Jon said yes far too quickly.

*

Tim had always been a very demonstrative person. He was never afraid to touch people. Whether it was a clap on the back or a helping hand or an arm around the shoulders, he was very tactile and showed affection in the millions of small touches he bestowed onto his friends and colleagues at the castle.

Sasha had always admired that about him. In the beginning, when Jon had been the slightly intimidating, sharp-tongued Gertrude replacement, Tim had been the only one brave enough to get closer to him and realise that he wasn’t so much scary and foreboding as awkward and nervous.

But Tim didn’t touch her anymore.

He acted the same – or, at least, he pretended too. He was perfectly friendly, laughing and joking and chatting. But he didn’t so much as let their fingers brush when she passed him a quill.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Melanie pointed out, when she spilled her troubles to her and Basira one evening in the tavern, over too-strong beer. ‘He’s still not really over the whole doppelgänger thing, you know. You didn’t see how he got. How awful he felt – we _all_ felt – that we didn’t notice you’d been replaced.’

‘I can remember the exact two times he’s touched me since you found me in that cave,’ Sasha said, counting them out on her fingers. ‘One; he hugged me then, when you all found me. Two; he touched my hand when I was recovering, and he thought I was asleep. Three; I hugged him when you got back from fighting the circus.’

‘It’s like, academically he knows it’s you,’ Basira said, ‘but he thought that before, too. And he’s been through a lot while you were missing.’

‘Yeah. First there was that whole thing when Jon went completely off the rails paranoid and thought everyone was out to get him,’ Melanie said. ‘Which, to be fair, Daisy was.’

Daisy rolled her eyes.

‘And then there was the whole thing when Jon ran away after being accused of murder and we were all under suspicion,’ Melanie said. 

Both Basira and Daisy rolled their eyes.

‘And then there was the circus of undead, where Jon managed to immolate himself in front of us,’ Basira said. 

‘Gods, Basira,’ Melanie said, flinching. Basira just shrugged.

‘And now his boss is stuck in some magical sleep like a fairytale princess, his bosses’ boss is locked up for murder and dark magic, and he’s probably terrified of anything else going wrong,’ Basira finished.

‘Have you talked to him about it?’ Daisy asked softly. 

‘No,’ Sasha admitted. ‘I think he’s avoiding me.’

They all drank their too-strong beer in silence.

*  
‘You’re working late.’

Tim jumped; he’d been deep into examining a magical artefact someone had brought in and hadn’t heard anyone come into the library. 

‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said, smiling through a yawn. ‘I just thought I should get this done. Since, you know, we have a new sovereign and all.’

‘You work too hard,’ she said, taking the seat across from him. 

His face felt tired and saggy; he rubbed it with his hands in an attempt to get his blood flowing.

‘Someone’s got to do it,’ he said. ‘Martin’s been… distracted, lately. Working on his own stuff. I barely see him around anymore.’

Looking for cures for Jon, Tim knew. They all knew. None of them had the heart to tell Martin that it was a worthless task. If a revivify couldn’t bring Jon back, what else could?

‘He’s doing extra work for Lukas, still, too,’ Sasha added. ‘Melanie’s seen him going in and out of Elias’ – of Lukas’ study.’

‘Great.’ Tim was overcome with a sudden wave of tiredness; he rested his head in his hands for a few seconds.

‘Tim,’ Sasha said softly. A warm hand rested delicately on the crook of his arm. He looked up into her eyes. ‘Are you ok?’

‘No,’ he laughed. It came out bitter and harsh. ‘No, I’m not. It just… it keeps on coming, you know? It never seems to stop. Just gets worse and worse. We fight back the blight invasion; we discover you were taken. We find you; Jon gets framed for murder. We defeat the undead circus; Jon is as good as dead. We get rid of Elias; he gets replaced by an unknown who could be even worse.’

‘We don’t know that,’ Sasha pointed out. ‘And you’re being pretty negative. Think about all the good things you listed. We defeated the blights! You rescued me! Jon was cleared, and Elias was imprisoned! And Jon’s not definitely dead. It’s a net win in my book.’

‘And Lukas?’

Sasha’s hand moved down from his elbow and took his hand. 

‘We can deal with Lukas together,’ she said. ‘Like we’ve dealt with everything else.’

For a moment, Tim felt like they really could.

*

‘You want me to be your assistant?’ Martin asked, confused.

Lukas rested his elbows on Elias’ desk, steepled his hands together, and smiled like an oil stain.

‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ he said, genially. ‘You’ll receive a small raise, since you’ll be busier, and you’ll work directly with me, and liaise with the others.’

Martin was still horribly confused.

‘I’m not the best person to ask,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I may have… sort of… bent the truth a little about my abilities when I applied for my job. The others are much better than me at it, honestly – I can barely cast a working detect magic spell most of the time, let alone a successful identify.’

‘I’m sure you’re selling yourself short,’ Lukas said, waving a careless hand. ‘Here. Cast light on this crystal. Don’t worry – it’s not magic.’

Martin took the large, jagged crystal from Lukas. It was purple, and heavier than it looked. He swallowed.

‘Light?’ he said. Lukas nodded.

‘Go on,’ he said, in what sounded like an attempt at an encouraging voice.

Martin focused on the crystal and tried to cast light. Nothing happened.

‘Come on, Martin,’ Lukas said, his tone a little sharper. ‘You know what to do.’

Martin remembered his meditation technique when he’d been searching Elias’ office. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He tried to tap into the strange background hum of the world, the chaotic web of life and magic that strung between them all. 

His closed eyelids burnt orange; he opened his eyes to see the crystal in his hands shining with a bright light.

‘There we go,’ Lukas said, smugly. ‘Now, magic missile that wall.’

‘What?’

‘Magic missile. Now.’

Lukas’ voice was sharp; the order was clear. Martin raised a hand and focused on the power in his hands, drawing once more from the magic background of the world. A missile shot out and struck the bare wall, leaving a smoking scorch mark.

He gasped, staring down at his hand. Abruptly around him the fabric of the world tremored.

Butterflies and flower petals burst into being all around him, fluttering around his head. When he put out a hand to touch them, he discovered they were merely illusions.

‘Wonderful,’ Lukas said, steepling his hands once more, a predatory look on his face. ‘Just as I thought.’

‘What… what _is_ this?’ Martin asked, watching the butterflies in open-mouthed amazement.

‘That, Martin, is why I would like you to be my assistant.’ 

*

When Jon woke up, he was alone in his rooms, and completely unaware of how much time had passed.

The strange dreams faded like mist in the light of day, and the last concrete memory he could dredge up was of that one crystalline moment before he cast fireball. He could remember everyone’s faces exactly.

He wished he couldn’t.

Jon’s body ached and protested as he climbed out of bed. He stretched his head and his neck cracked loudly in the empty room. Realising he was in bedclothes, he rummaged around in his chest for a clean robe. All his clothes were very dusty; he made a mental note to get them washed. He shook most of the dust off the cleanest and pulled it on before making a slow and achy descent from his tower.

The door at the base creaked open; he made a note to have the hinges oiled. The library looked much the same; the lamps flickered gently in their sconces, throwing warm light across the maze of huge floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, full to bursting with books and scrolls. The assistant desks were in their usual place, though only two desks were occupied; Tim and Sasha were pouring over some scrolls, murmuring gently to each other.

Jon cleared his throat.

The looks on their faces would have been comical if their open-mouthed surprise hadn’t been so worrying.

‘Jon?’ Sasha managed, after a couple of seconds shocked silence.

‘Um. Yes?’ Jon said, suddenly unsure.

There was a flurry of movement; between one moment and the next, Jon found himself squashed between the two most physically demonstrative of his assistants. Sasha hugging him wasn’t too much of a shock, since she had always been the one assistant able to force her way through his personal barriers. But Tim – Tim had been distant since Jon’s regrettable descent into mad paranoia and even after Jon had returned to the castle, exonerated of murder, Tim hadn’t been his biggest fan.

Jon tried to relax into it.

‘I assume we defeated Orsinov, then,’ Jon said, once the hugging lasted long enough to be awkward.

‘Jon,’ Sasha said, pulling back, her eyes glittering, ‘that was half a year ago.’

‘What?’ Jon struggled to make sense of it. ‘I…’

‘You’ve been… asleep, since you…’

‘You died,’ Tim said, straightforwardly, stepping back and crossing his arms. Now the surprise and relief had faded from his face he just looked angry. ‘You fucking killed yourself, you absolute bastard. Right in front of us!’

‘I…’ Jon started, but he was cut off by Sasha.

‘Tim! Give him a break! He’s only just woken up.’

‘He fucking blew himself up in front of us! I didn’t know you were capable of even casting a spell that strong!’

‘Neither did I,’ Jon admitted. ‘I just… didn’t think there were any other options.’

‘You’re a fucking idiot,’ Tim said, but his sudden rush of anger seemed to be fading. Jon guessed that it had been something of a long six months.

‘So… I died?’ Jon asked.

‘Yeah. Elias revivified you,’ Tim said. ‘Brought your body back. But you never woke up.’

‘Where _were_ you?’ Sasha asked gently.

Jon thought back to that endless black void, of vague impressions of something immense and powerful looming over him, of the eyes glittering in the darkness.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, slowly. His thousand-yard stare fell across the rest of the desks on the room, all standing empty.

‘Where are the others?’ he asked, suddenly filled with the urge to see them all. ‘Where’s…’ His eyes caught on Martin’s desk. Or, what had been Martin’s desk. It was completely bare.

‘Where’s Martin?’ he asked.

Tim and Sasha exchanged glances; Tim bit his lip.

‘So, quite a lot has changed since you’ve been asleep,’ he began.

*

‘Jon, wait!’

‘I need to speak to Elias,’ Jon said as he strode down the halls of castle Magnus, Tim and Sasha running along behind. 

‘You can’t!’ Sasha cried.

‘He’s not-‘ Tim began, just as Jon reached Elias’ study door. It opened. Martin stepped out, armfuls of spell scrolls in his arms.

Martin froze at the sight of him, mouth open, eyes wide, a few scrolls slipping out of his lax grip.

‘Jon?’ he said softly.

‘He’s – not in his office,’ Tim said, panting, as he and Sasha finally caught him up. ‘Gods, you’re faster than I remember.’

Jon was too busy looking Martin. He looked thinner, more drawn, than he remembered. His eyes were bright and he looked happy to see Jon but there was a more complex dance of emotion across his face. Relief and happiness were there, but there were shades of regret and sadness, too, and for a moment Jon was sure he could see panic and even a brief flash of terror.

‘How are you feeling?’ Martin asked, still with that unbearably soft voice. Jon swallowed and struggled for words. 

‘Well-rested,’ he said.

Tim snorted. Jon whirled around to frown at him.

‘What do you mean, Elias’s not in his office?’ he asked.

‘Ah,’ Martin said. ‘That would be my fault.’

‘Martin?’

The new voice – one Jon had never heard before – issued from Elias’ study. Martin looked back at the door, still ajar, and then to Jon, as though torn.

‘I…’ he began, just as the voice spoke again, louder, firmer.

‘Martin.’

‘I’ll… I’ll see you later,’ he said, shooting one last soft smile at Jon. ‘It’s good to see you, Jon.’

‘Martin….’ Jon said.

‘I need to… I’ll see you later,’ Martin said, and he disappeared into Elias’ study, the door shutting firmly behind him.

‘It’s that godsdamned Lukas,’ Tim snarled, later, when they had reconvened in the local tavern, the Bell, Book, and Candle – affectionately called ‘the Bell,’ by everyone who went there. ‘He just walked straight in and now he’s acting like he owns the place.’

‘And he’s basically using Martin as his dogsbody,’ Sasha said, miserably, into her beer, ‘because he’s too polite to say no.’

‘But Martin was the one to get Elias arrested?’ Jon asked. ‘_Martin_?’

‘Yup,’ Sasha said, grinning proudly. ‘Martin was the one who found his hidden safe with the incriminating evidence.’

‘But he’s just letting Lukas walk all over him like a carpet,’ Tim grumbled.

‘Be fair,’ Sasha admonished, ‘none of us have exactly stood up to him. And Martin’s been having a tough time for a while, now.’

‘Oh?’ Jon asked.

Sasha rolled her eyes.

‘We thought you were never going to wake up, Jon,’ she said. ‘How do you think Martin’s been feeling?’

‘I thought it was just a little crush,’ he said, somewhat sullenly.

‘Yes, we all know about your rock-bottom self-esteem,’ Tim said, also rolling his eyes. ‘Look, someone was up in your tower for hours at a time holding your hand and staring at your sleeping face and, to give you a hint, it wasn’t either of us.’

Jon took a deep draught of beer in an attempt to hide his embarrassment, but he could feel the blush crawling red and blotchy up his neck.

‘So Elias is at the temple of the Huntress?’ he asked.

‘Yeah,’ Tim said, though his gimlet stare made it plain that their previous topic of conversation was not forgotten. ‘They don’t like you much there, do they?’

‘They still like Basira, though,’ Sasha said thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure she could get you in.’

‘How is Basira? And Daisy? And… Melanie?’ Jon asked, as an afterthought. ‘Are they ok?’

‘Everyone’s fine. They’re off collecting some magical artefacts from a few towns over, but they’ll be back tomorrow,’ Sasha said. ‘You can wait that long, right?’

Jon shrugged.

‘Don’t have much choice, do I?’

Jon didn’t say at the Bell for long. Sasha had missed him, but he still wasn’t sure how he stood with Tim, and being with them alone made him feel like a third wheel. 

And in moments of quiet, voids of black flashed before his eyes, glittering with unknown lights.

He needed to talk to Elias. He had so many questions. But he had to wait.

He wandered back up the hill to the castle just after sunset, leaving Sasha and Tim still drinking. Tim had pulled out his lute and started to engage the crowds, and Jon had seen it as his chance to slip away without causing too much fuss.

The castle was dark and empty, as he remembered. It was still strange to think that he had been asleep for so long; so little had changed, at least physically. Everything was as it had been the morning he had left to take on the circus.

But the people had changed. 

Jon’s feet followed their old, well-trodden path up to the library as he thought of Martin and the terror he’d seen, fleetingly, in his eyes. Jon was so lost in thought, his legs carrying him on autopilot, that he didn’t notice Martin in front of him until they almost collided.

‘Martin,’ Jon said. He wanted to say something else, something _more_, but his mind failed him, and his mouth just opened and closed like a landed fish.

Martin’s eyes were glittering again.

‘Jon,’ he said. ‘It’s really, _really_ good to see you.’

‘It’s… good to see you too,’ Jon said, somewhat lamely. It was, though it had hardly been a day for him since he saw Martin last. But again, as he was outside Elias’ study, he was struck with the change in him. Martin’s once-rounded cheeks were gaunter, more hollow, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. His robes hung off his not insubstantial frame and made him look like a very tall coat hanger. 

They stood and blinked at each other for a few seconds, until Jon could bear it no longer.

‘So,’ he said, his voice feeling unnaturally loud in the silent corridor, ‘you’re Lord Lukas’ assistant.’

Martin shrugged.

‘He needed one. And better me, than one of the others,’ he said.

Jon frowned. ‘Why?’

Martin gave a little, hiccupping laugh.

‘You always used to say – it’s written in your notes, anyway– how the others do good work,’ Martin said. ‘I’m just… I’m not as useful, right?’

Jon felt suddenly, overwhelmingly guilty. He had, in fact, written down much about Martin’s incompetence. In his defence, he had been new in his position, completely underqualified, and suddenly in charge of a bevy of assistants. Martin had been the keenest and therefore the most stressful to deal with, and Jon had taken his irritation out on him. Tim and Sasha giggling about Martin’s so-called crush hadn’t helped matters.

Martin had long since proven himself, of course; with the blights, and finding Sasha after the doppelgänger was revealed, and keeping the library running while Jon was hiding from the paladins of the Huntress in Georgie’s basement. He’d never been particularly blessed with magical skill, but then neither had Jon. And then, while everyone else had been away, Martin had managed to take down the high priest of the Allfather.

Jon couldn’t believe he was looking at the man to outwit Elias. Martin’s eyes were large and bright in his gaunt face and he looked scared again.

‘Martin,’ Jon said, feeling terrible. 

‘It’s ok,’ Martin said, with a minute sniff. ‘It’s fine. I’m glad you’re awake, Jon.’

Jon couldn’t move as he watched Martin pull himself together, shoot him a small smile, and walk past him a calculated distance apart so that their shoulders didn’t brush.

Jon _knew_, somehow, deep down, that Martin was disappointed. That Martin had waited so long for him to wake up that the actual event was falling incredibly short of his expectations. That he’d become so used to the current state of his life that even his hope had faded away to nothing.

At the last second, almost outside of his control, Jon’s hand shot out and grasped Martin’s upper arm.

‘Martin,’ he said, again. His throat felt choked up and sore. ‘I – I’m sorry.’

Martin cocked his head.

‘For what?’ he asked.

‘For… blowing myself up like an idiot,’ Jon said, thinking back to Tim’s anger. ‘For leaving you to deal with Elias and Lukas by yourself. For not realising how… how _important_ you are. To the library,’ Jon said, hastily. 

Martin’s face, so angular in the flickering torchlight, softened slightly.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

Jon shuffled forward slowly, feeling incredibly awkward, and gingerly wrapped his arms around Martin, tucking his head against his chest, just under his chin. 

He’d hugged Martin only once before – when they’d all finally found Sasha in the doppelgänger’s den, they’d been so overwhelmed by happiness and relief that even Jon had participated in the celebratory hugs. He remembered Martin’s hug feeling different to the others – Martin was large, and warm, and safe.

Jon could tell that Martin had lost a lot of weight since then, but as his arms slowly, cautiously wrapped themselves around Jon in return they felt just as safe as before.

*

Basira, Daisy, and Melanie got back from their trip just after lunch the next day. Jon was out and bothering them before they’d even begun to unload the artefacts.

He announced his presence by calling ‘I need to see Elias,’ as he strode towards them across the courtyard.

Melanie jumped in shock; Basira and Daisy both whirled around.

‘Jon?’ Basira said. 

‘Yes, yes, I’m awake, good to see you all,’ Jon said, waving a hand impatiently. He submitted to Basira’s hug and nodded at Daisy from a professional distance. Melanie scowled at him sullenly but patted him on the shoulder as she passed.

‘Why do you want to see Elias?’ Daisy asked, squinting suspiciously.

‘I need to ask what happened to me in the six months I was asleep,’ Jon said. ‘Since he’s the one who revivified me.’

‘He won’t tell you,’ Daisy said. ‘He wouldn’t tell any of us what was wrong with you. Just that you might wake up eventually, but it was up to you.’

‘He probably won’t even see you,’ Basira warned.

The paladins weren’t happy to see Jon. Even with Basira’s support – Basira was still favoured at the temple, since she had been essentially tricked out of her oath by Elias and hadn’t left the order of her own free will – they were reluctant to let him through.

And even when they did, Elias only smirked before turning to face the wall and refusing to talk.

‘Told you,’ Basira said, as Jon huffed in frustration.

‘I need the room,’ Jon said. ‘Would you mind giving me a few minutes?’

‘He’s not going to tell you anything,’ Basira said, even as she took Daisy’s arm and led her, and their paladin guards, out of the dungeon. The heavy iron door swung shut behind them with a creak and a groan.

There was silence for a time. Something dripped steadily in the background. Neither Jon nor Elias moved.

‘You said your god was the allfather,’ Jon said, thinking aloud. Elias was still facing the wall. ‘You were lying.’

Jon thought he saw Elias twitch.

‘You call him the allfather,’ Jon continued. ‘But he has other names.’

‘Why do you need to ask me any questions? You seem to know the answers already,’ Elias said, finally turning around. ‘You just want me to confirm your suspicions.’

‘And you won’t?’

‘You want to know who woke you. Who called to you in your dreams. I’m afraid,’ Elias smirked, ‘that you must seek Him for yourself. I cannot help you.’

And no matter what Jon said, Elias refused to say anything further. After ten minutes the paladins came back in and tried to guide Jon away; Basira shot him an apologetic look.

‘I tried to give you as long as I could,’ she said. Jon nodded his thanks.

‘Could I see the evidence of his dark magic?’ he asked the nearest paladin. They drew themselves up to their full height, breastplate gleaming, and stared at him blankly. ‘The papers that were confiscated when you arrested him?’ Jon tried. ‘The ones found in his study?’

They continued to stare. 

Back at Castle Magnus, Jon paced his study in frustration.

‘I need to know what Elias was doing,’ he said. ‘I need to _understand_.’

‘What did you see?’ Tim asked. ‘While you were asleep?’

‘I can’t remember much,’ Jon admitted. ‘A featureless void, mainly. Eyes in the dark, sometimes.’

‘Eyes?’ Sasha shuddered. ‘Creepy.’

‘Quite,’ Jon agreed.

With Elias refusing to answer his questions, Jon had no choice but to try and find out more the old-fashioned way – through research. The library at castle Magnus was large and well-stocked, but the organisation was so poor that Jon had long since given up trying to rectify it. He doubted anyone had tried to implement a system since the original Lord Magnus had begun collecting tomes.

This of course meant that research was a long, drawn-out process. Sasha offered to help, when she wasn’t busy with her own work. Tim was less helpful.

‘Elias will tell you eventually,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘He won’t be able to restrain himself.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Jon said. ‘He waited six months for me to wake up. I wouldn’t put it past him to wait another six months before telling me anything.’

It didn’t help either that Jon wasn’t really even sure what he was researching. He’d never heard of a revivify only half-working and the little of the dreams he remembered were vague and muddled. As Basira pointed out, ‘eyes’ and ‘void’ weren’t much to go on.

Jon didn’t have much time to focus on his own problems, either, before his job took precedence. Tim had been hearing rumours through the town about strange magical activity in the northern hills; this then escalated to travellers coming through Llwndin mentioning the strange noises they’d heard on the roads, chanting and wailing in the dark. Then farmers from the outskirts of town made their way to castle Magnus with news of unseasonal darkness, crops withering overnight as though from lack of sunlight or water. 

It was heavy on everyone’s minds after the dark circus – more necromancers. More dark magic. The circus had vanished since it’s defeat, but other necromancers had been coming out of the woodwork as though galvanised by the attempt. There had been two attempts at taking the castle – Prentiss had almost successfully infiltrated the castle and had only just been beaten back by Elias’ powerful divine magic. The circus had made a much more grandstanding attempt, to draw them out of the safety of Castle Magnus’ walls and destroy them on their own terms. Both had failed, but others were watching, and believed they could succeed where Prentiss and Orsinov could not.

Jon could almost feel the darkness closing in on them, creeping through the valley.

The first alarm was raised by a woman running through the town crying death and destruction. It didn’t take for them to armour and saddle up. Sasha, as usual, offered to hold the fort – Jon had noticed that she avoided actively getting into fights, and wondered if her ordeal with the doppelgänger still weighed heavily on her mind. 

It was the first time Jon had gone out on a quest without a cleric, and he wasn’t sure how comfortable he felt about it. When he shared his worries, Sasha just shrugged.

‘We’ve managed in the six months you’ve been asleep,’ she said, as she double-checked his armour straps. ‘Basira is still a paladin, and she’s been managing the healing side of things pretty well. And you’ve each got a healing potion if things get rough.’

Jon wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t really want to argue the point. He glanced up at the castle and saw a white face in one of the windows. Sasha followed his gaze.

‘He wanted to come,’ she said, quietly. ‘He asked Lukas. But apparently he doesn’t think more than one wizard needs to go.’

‘At least he’s out of harm’s way,’ Jon said.

‘He’s improved a lot recently.’ Sasha raised her eyebrows. ‘I think you’d be surprised.’

‘We need to head off,’ Tim called, swinging up into his saddle and trotting his horse over to them.

‘Be safe,’ Sasha said.

‘You too.’

They shared an intense stare; Jon cleared his throat to remind them they had an audience.

‘Come on, Jon,’ Tim said, coughing, pulling on his reigns.

Daisy and Basira were already cantering out of the courtyard, Basira’s armour shining silver in the sunlight. Where there had been reliefs of antlers and bows, there was now an eye – the symbol of Elias’ god, the supposed allfather. Daisy, having given up the paladin life after leaving the temple of the Huntress, just wore her battle leathers. 

Melanie had already followed Daisy and Basira. Tim looked frustrated.

‘Jon, we need to go,’ he said.

Jon cast a look back at the window. Martin had vanished. 

*

‘They don’t need you,’ Peter had said. ‘They have a wizard now. Your time is better served practicing and looking after the castle in their absence.’

It made sense. Martin hated that it made sense. He watched them all get ready in the courtyard, dread and nerves and frustration bubbling in his chest. All the ‘what if’ scenarios filed through his mind, each worse than the last. Jon had only just come back to them; Martin didn’t think he could go through the last six months all over again.

‘They’ll be fine,’ Peter said from behind Martin, making him jump.

‘I know,’ Martin said, even though he didn’t.

‘Come on,’ Peter cajoled. ‘There’s work I need you to do.’

Martin drew away from the window and missed Jon’s last look back.

*

The farm buildings were aflame and burning fiercely by the time they arrived. There were five people in red robes waiting for them. The one in the centre, a woman with a sharp smirk and hands already on fire, launched a fireball down towards them before they could properly approach. They all managed to dodge, though Jon and Basira were launched from their horses and had to struggle up from the ground, bruised and battered. The smell of smoke was thick in the air, whipped up and into their eyes by a westerly wind. Jon blinked acrid smoke from his eyes and stumbled to his feet just as Tim leapt nimbly from his own horse and pulled out his lute.

The music screeched out clear and haunting; two of the robed figures clutched their ears, faces filling with terror. Daisy let out a bull roar, lifted her huge broadsword, and charged at the leading figure. She was blasted back by a firebolt and rolled back to her feet, growling.

Jon didn’t see where Melanie had gone until she leapt at one of robed figures, seemingly from thin air, knives in her hands and a snarl on her face.

The centre figure advanced towards Jon, still smirking. In that moment, struck with revelation, Jon recognised her. Jude Perry was one of the leaders of a rogue mage school, one that taught those with magical talent how best to destroy. They’d had run-ins before, though usually just from a distance as Jude rescued her initiates from the wrath of Castle Magnus and its employees.

‘Jude,’ Jon said. ‘Jude Perry.’

She inclined her head.

‘You should have left us alone,’ Jude said, still smiling sharply. ‘We aren’t the ones you should be worried about.’

‘You’ve destroyed these people’s livelihoods,’ Jon pointed out.

Jude just shrugged.

‘Nothing but a little destruction and desolation,’ she said. ‘Not like those necromancers in the mountains.’

‘Where are they?’ Jon asked, but before he could get an answer Daisy was charging again. This time she managed to get a solid hit in before Jude blasted her backwards. Daisy landed in a patch of gorse, smoking slightly. The large cut across Jude’s chest knitted itself back together before Jon’s eyes.

‘Why should I tell you anything, if your attack dog keeps trying to kill me?’ Jude asked.

‘Because you don’t want those necromancers to achieve their goal as much as we don’t,’ Jon tried. He knew it, somehow, like he had known that Elias’ god wasn’t the allfather. 

‘Their ritual _would_ interfere with our destruction,’ Jude agreed. ‘Fire doesn’t get along well with darkness.’

‘Then tell me where they are!’ 

Melanie had by now dispatched one of Jude’s lackeys and was fighting another; Basira had managed to get to her feet and was helping Tim chase down the two he’d frightened with his music. Jude had lost her back-up but was by no means an easy target. And she knew it.

Jude cocked her head.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, as she pulled up her hands and let a fireball gather between them.

‘Counterspell!’ Daisy screamed, as the fire grew. ‘Jon!’

Jon tried to counterspell. He really did. He held out his hands and concentrated on the counterspell he’d learnt as hard as he could.

Nothing happened.

The fireball was huge and crackling in Jude’s hands. Her smirk was lit from below by the raging inferno.

Dark, crackling energy shot from Jon’s outstretched hands and connected with Jude just as she let the fire go.

The blast threw Jude back and she lay, unmoving, prone on the ground. The fire she’d summoned was knocked off-course and landed to the right, missing Daisy completely. Jon was not so lucky.

He felt the heat scorch his right side and had to bite down his scream.

He was vaguely aware of dropping to his knees; the pain radiating up his arm and into his shoulder overwhelmed the rest of his senses. Someone was shouting, in the distance, and there were gusts of wind catching on his clothes and hair and making his wounds burn all over again. 

‘Jon!’ 

Basira’s voice was close, too close; Jon could hear the clanking of her plate armour and her hard breathing as though she were right by his head. Then hands were on his head, pressing down, and cool relief spread through his scorched body.

He took a breath, shook out his arm. It tingled with the remnants of healing magic.

Jon opened his eyes.

‘Where did she go?’ he asked. Basira was kneeling next to him, her hands still on his head; Tim was behind her, peering down at Jon with worry lining his face. Melanie and Daisy were a little further away, scrubbing at some burnt gorse with their feet. 

There was no sign of Jude Perry and her acolytes.

‘Wyrmling,’ Tim explained, running a hand through his hair and leaving black smudges all over his face. ‘It picked up the survivors and flew away.’

‘Got two, though,’ Melanie crowed.

‘How are you feeling, Jon?’ Basira asked.

‘Better now; thanks.’ He rotated his shoulder – the burn was almost completely healed, leaving only the glow of new pink skin in its wake.

‘You’re an idiot. Why didn’t you counterspell?’ Tim yelled.

‘I couldn’t,’ Jon said. ‘I tried and… I couldn’t.’

‘So instead you just, what, blasted her?’

‘I don’t know what that was,’ Jon said. He thought back to the moment when the energy had burst from his hands. It had felt almost… natural. Instinctive. ‘It just… happened.’

‘Well,’ Basira said, standing with a creak of metal, brushing grass and dust off her knees. ‘There’s not much we can do for the buildings.’

As she spoke, one of the barns gave up the ghost and its roof collapsed into the fire.

‘They weren’t the necromancers,’ Jon said. ‘Not the ones we’ve been hearing about, I mean.’

‘Then who are they?’

‘Jude didn’t say,’ Jon said, frustrated. ‘But they’re up in the mountains. And they’re planning something big. A ritual. Something that even Jude Perry is afraid of.’

Tim summed up all their feelings with a succinct ‘fuck.’

*

They arrived back to the castle bruised and a bit singed. Jon decided to save his healing potion for greater future need – they were expensive and Basira’s lay on hands had cleared up the worst of his burns – so the new healed skin was very red and a little bit raw. It pulled sharply as he dismounted and he winced, and then tried to hide his wince.

Tim spotted it anyway.

‘You should just take the potion,’ he tried.

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘You’re suffering for no reason.’

‘We might need the potion in the future.’

‘We can buy more!’

‘Now, now, children,’ said Sasha’s voice, brightly. ‘No bickering. Was it a successful trip?’

‘The idiot won’t have a potion to heal himself,’ Tim said, yanking back Jon’s cloak and revealing the remnants of his burn. Sasha sucked air through her teeth sympathetically.

‘Ouch,’ she said. ‘I’m sure we’ve got some salve somewhere. That’ll ease the redness.’

‘Thank you, Sasha.’ Jon stared at Tim pointedly. ‘A good suggestion.’

Tim just threw his hands up in frustration.

Jon glanced up at the castle. The glass panes of the windows reflected the light of the setting sun, making them shine like mercury and rendering them completely opaque.

‘Martin wanted to come down and say hello, but he’s working,’ Sasha said, guessing – correctly, to Jon’s chagrin – what Jon was looking for.

‘He’s always working,’ Tim grumbled as he handed his horse’s reigns to a stablehand. ‘Lukas monopolises him.’

‘I wish I knew what Lukas was up to,’ Sasha said, sotte voce, as she helped Jon off his own horse without using his right arm. The skin was healed but still tight and sore, and Jon couldn’t hide his wince as he dismounted.

The library was empty, later, after Tim and Sasha had dragged him off to salve up his burn and put ice on his bruises. The skin on his arm felt pleasingly tingly and cool in the breeze as he walked through the draughty castle. The others were no doubt off at the Bell for drinks, to toast their minor victory over Perry and the small contingent of the school of Desolation, but Jon wasn’t in the mood for celebration. 

Jon had expected the library to be empty – he had prepared himself for it. But nevertheless, he was still hit by a sudden wave of disappointment at the sight of Martin’s bare and empty desk.

Martin was busy, Jon knew. Martin was working for Lord Lukas. The new Lord of Castle Magnus who Jon was yet to meet. But seeing that empty desk was still unaccountably disappointing.

Martin hadn’t come to see him since they’d got back from fighting Jude Perry.

Jon shook off the melancholy and focussed on the job at hand. He had work to do. Ignoring the piles of books he had built up on revivify and lesser-known pantheons of gods, he instead looked for necromantic tomes. Specifically, ones on rituals.

His candles burnt down to waxen stumps – he could no longer cast dancing lights, no matter how much he tried. Overtired and crashing from the adrenaline of the day, Jon slipped from consciousness to dreams between breaths.

In the darkness there was nothing, but awareness pricked at the back of Jon’s neck. He was being watched.

‘Who are you?’ he asked the void. There was silence and darkness.

‘You brought me back,’ he said. ‘You need me for something. How can I serve you if I don’t even know who you are?’

Silence followed again. It was a silence so complete and oppressive that all the sounds of Jon’s body were amplified to the point of insanity. Every throb of his heartbeat choked him. Every breath screeched in his ears.

‘WHO ARE YOU,’ he screamed into the void.

It was not, perhaps, the wisest course of action to shout abuse at the unknown entity which had brought him back to life, but Jon had never been known for his wisdom.

After an eternity of darkness, but an eternity in the way of dreams where they pass in seconds, the space between heartbeats, lights began to blink into existence. And blink they did, because as Jon looked closer, he saw they were not stars but tiny, distant eyes.

And then Jon Knew, knew deep in his bones, that this was not the allfather. This was no god at all; this was an antediluvian entity from before the world was formed. An entity that Watched. The entity that powered Elias’ magic, and the entity that woke Jon up and replaced his meagre magical learnings with powers of its own design.

The eyes opened larger. There were worlds in the coloured irises, multitudes swirling in their cloudy depths.

Jon opened his own eyes. His candles had burnt out and had melted into strange wax lumps on his desk. Sunrise was lighting the room, streaming through the slim windows. He remembered very little of his dream except for darkness, and eyes like stars.

He rubbed his face, but drew back quickly when he realised that his hand was covered in ink where he had fallen asleep holding his quill. The paper beneath him was blank except for the small pool of ink that had leaked from the nib, and one word. Written in his own handwriting, though he had no memory of doing so.

OVERSEER.

He didn’t hear the door to the library open, so entranced by the word he had apparently written down during his dreams, but he did hear the soft exclamation that followed.

‘Oh. Sorry,’ Martin said, wringing his hands awkwardly. ‘I didn’t think anyone would be in here so early.’

‘I never left,’ Jon said, reaching up to cover a yawn and remembering too late about the ink still staining his hands. He cursed.

Martin let out a small, stifled giggle.

‘I better go and clean up,’ Jon sighed. ‘The library’s yours.’ He folded up the piece of paper and tucked it into his pockets.

‘You should probably get some sleep,’ Martin said, frowning. 

‘I think I did,’ Jon said. 

They stood there in silence, neither knowing what to say but neither wanting to leave without saying anything more. Eventually Martin broke the silence.

‘Sasha said you got hurt? Yesterday, in the fight with the desolation mages?’

‘Just a burn,’ Jon said, waving a hand carelessly and wincing as the tight new skin pulled and twinged.

Martin looked wretched.

‘I should have gone with you,’ he said. ‘I wanted to. I just… Peter said that two wizards going was unnecessary.’

The oh-so-casual mention of Lord Lukas by his first name stung Jon into sudden irritation.

‘There was nothing you could have done, anyway. _Peter_ was right.’

Jon stormed off, not looking back at Martin’s hurt expression.

*

After washing the ink off his face and hands, and some time to cool down, Jon felt guilty about his harsh words. The others had made it clear that Martin had taken up the brunt of the work Lord Lukas required so that the rest of them could get on with their normal jobs. And Martin may not have been the most powerful wizard, but neither was Jon.

Jon even went back to the library to apologise in the late morning because he felt so bad, but Martin was long gone and only Melanie, Sasha, and Basira were at their desks. Jon’s face must have shown his disappointment, as Sasha took one look at it and snorted.

‘Oh, charming,’ she said. ‘It’s so nice when your boss is happy to see you.’

‘Was Martin here? Earlier?’ Jon asked.

‘Oooh.’ The understanding dawning on Sasha’s face made Jon want to turn invisible. ‘So that explains Martin’s long face. Did you guys have a lover’s quarrel?’

‘A lover’s… what?’ 

‘Oh, Jon,’ Sasha shook her head, smirking. 

‘This is unimportant.’ Jon strode over and dropped the piece of paper on Sasha’s desk. ‘I want you to look this up.’

Melanie, who had been lurking by a nearby shelf, ostensibly organising spell scrolls, swooped in and grabbed the paper before Sasha could pick it up. She unfolded it and frowned.

‘What’s this? ‘Overseer’?’

‘I wrote it down while I was sleeping,’ Jon admitted. ‘I think it might have something to do with… with why I woke up.’

Sasha snatched the paper from Melanie.

‘I’ll look into it,’ she agreed.

‘Thanks, Sasha.’

‘If you sort out whatever argument you had with Martin,’ she added quickly. ‘You’re both walking around with hangdog expressions, and it’s getting on my nerves.’

‘Sasha…’ Jon began, but Sasha’s face was firm. 

‘Nope,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘I mean it, Jon. The world is against us. We need to be clear and honest with each other, and _talk_ to each other, or we don’t stand a chance.’ Melanie, standing over Sasha’s shoulder, grinned with all her teeth.

Jon had to admit Sasha had a point.

‘I’ll talk to Martin,’ Jon said. ‘If I can find him.’

‘He’ll be in Lukas’ office,’ Basira said, speaking up from her desk in the corner for the first time. ‘He usually is. Lukas is out a lot, considering he’s supposed to be running the place.’

‘Right. Ok,’ Jon said, squaring his shoulders. ‘I’ll go now. You’ll look into that for me?’

‘Of course,’ Sasha grinned. ‘It’s my job, isn’t it?’

*

Jon never got a chance to apologise to Martin before they were called out again for another necromancer sighting. Daisy and Martin were nowhere to be found, so it was a somewhat reduced team that went out to face the necromancers. As usual, Sasha chose to stay behind.

When they arrived at the small forest clearing, where the woodcutter who’d raised the alarm had seen them, there were only two necromancers and they fled before engaging.

‘Stop them!’ Jon called, before his hands shot out that same dark, eldritch energy. It connected with the back of one of the fleeing figures and they were knocked away with the force of it.

They scrambled to their feet just as Melanie got a shot at them with her crossbow and managed to dodge it, though it caught a scrap of their cloak and pinned it to a nearby tree. The other necromancer didn’t wait for their fallen comrade but cast a spell on themselves and ascended into the sky.

‘Shit,’ Tim said, from behind Jon, flinging his hands out. The figure, stumbling through the forest, froze abruptly.

‘Good job!’ Jon called.

‘I can’t hold them for long!’ Tim was already straining, sweat gathering at his temples. ‘Quick!’

Basira took off at a run and smashed the necromancer with her Morningstar with a grunt of effort. The figure swayed but did not collapse at the blow.

‘We need them alive!’ Jon shouted, just as Melanie took another shot with her crossbow, her arrow flying true and embedding itself into the necromancer’s shoulder.

By the time Jon reached the necromancer, he looked to be in poor shape. One of his shoulders was leaking blood at an alarming rate, and his face was ashen pale. His face was set firm and bullish, and Jon knew he would tell them nothing.

‘Where are you performing your ritual?’ he asked.

The necromancer relaxed as Tim dropped his holding spell, but his eyes flickered between Jon and Basira, who stood with her Morningstar over her shoulder, still spattered with blood.

‘What are your plans?’ Jon asked.

The necromancer stayed stubbornly silent; then he smiled.

It was split seconds of warning but it was enough; Jon found himself suddenly thirty foot across the clearing, shrouded in mist, as the dark ribbons of black energy hit the ground where he had been standing. The other necromancer hovered above them, hand outstretched. Tim and Basira had thrown themselves to the side and avoided most of the damage, but before either of them could react the necromancer swooped down and cast flight on his companion, and they ascended rapidly into the treeline. Melanie sent a shot into the canopy after them and swore as it went wide.

Jon readied himself to fly after them, his limbs growing lighter as he concentrated, the spell coming easier than it ever had before. But before he could start to chase Tim grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘You can’t take on two at once. And you won’t be able to catch them.’

‘They’re getting away,’ Melanie yelled.

‘We’ll lose them!’ Jon tried wrenching his arm free, but Tim held on doggedly.

‘You can’t catch them!’ he said. ‘You’ll just get hurt. And we haven’t lost them, not really.’ Tim’s eyes were wide. ‘I saw his face. I know what he looks like. And we have this.’ He held up the scrap of dark cloth that Melanie had ripped off with her first shot. ‘I can find him, wherever he goes. I can scry him.’

*

It turned out to be easier said than done.

Back at Castle Magnus they all crowded around Tim, who sat cross-legged on the floor in the centre of the library, eyes closed. Faint strains of music chimed in the air.

‘They’re in… a cave?’ Tim offered, his eyes scrunched up in effort. ‘So they’re in the mountains?’

‘We already knew that,’ Basira said, folding her arms, not hiding her annoyance. ‘I thought you said you could track them?’

‘Well, not exactly,’ Tim said. ‘But if I get a general location, I can try and locate him from within thousand feet.’

‘So, we’ll be running around the mountains while you wait until you sense him?’ Melanie asked, unimpressed.

‘Wait; he’s walking outside. I can see the mountains – they’re on the western side. The sun’s setting, and I can… they’re by some large stone cairns.’

Sasha was frantically flicking through the yellowed pages of a huge tome; she let out a cry of triumph and beckoned them over. Tim cracked his eyes open.

‘You better have found it because I’ve just lost the connection,’ he warned.

‘Here; the cairns on the western side could be the site of the old temple,’ Sasha said. ‘The temple’s ancient, and no one knows what god it was for.’

‘I have an idea,’ Jon said, gravely. ‘Necromancers attempting a ritual at an old temple? Sounds like it was a grave site.’

‘Then who are they resurrecting?’ Basira asked.

Jon shrugged.

‘It can’t be anything good,’ he said, ‘if even Jude Perry is wary of it.’

‘There must be something in here,’ Sasha said, scanning the tiny scrawled writing, her eyes flicking rapidly from side to side.

‘Whatever it is, it’s old,’ Melanie said. ‘Old and forgotten.’

‘Almost forgotten,’ Tim pointed out.

Jon paused.

‘Jude said something about darkness,’ he said, the memory lancing through him. ‘About how darkness doesn’t work well with fire.’

‘That narrows it down,’ Sasha said. 

Jon squinted at her; he couldn’t tell whether that had been sarcastic or not.

A quiet cough from the doorway made them all swivel around; Martin stood there, clutching his hands, eyes wide at all the sudden attention.

‘Um, did it go well?’ he asked hesitantly. His gaze jumped between them all, as though he couldn’t decide who to look at. Eventually he settled on Sasha, even though she hadn’t gone with them.

‘No one got hurt, but they escaped,’ Tim said.

‘There were only two,’ Basira said. ‘Whatever they’d been doing, they weren’t going to hang around long even without our intervention.’

‘Ah. Good. That no one got hurt, I mean.’

Melanie, from where she leant against the shelves behind Sasha, muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘no thanks to you.’ Jon shot her a look, which she ignored.

They all stared at Martin. He shuffled his feet, apparently having run out of conversation.

‘Martin…’ Jon began, but he was cut off by a louder shout echoing down the halls.

‘Martin!’

Martin’s face lit up in relief.

‘I better go, see what he wants,’ Martin said. ‘I’ll see you guys later.’

He turned on his heel and all but sprinted off.

‘He won’t,’ Tim said knowingly. ‘He hasn’t been to the Bell in months. I thought he was just spending all his evenings weeping at your bedside, but clearly he can’t be doing that anymore.’

Jon rolled his eyes.

‘Lukas is separating him from us,’ Sasha said, also rolling her eyes, though for different reasons. ‘It’s obvious. I’m worried about him.’

‘Hmm.’ Tim crossed his arms. ‘It didn’t take him long to jump ship, though, did it? He calls him ‘Peter’ now.’

‘He feels guilty,’ Daisy said, quietly, from the corner of the library. It made Jon jump; he’d forgotten she was still there. She was curled in an armchair, looking small and vulnerable out of her armour. ‘He thinks that because he got Elias arrested, that he should take the burden of Lukas rather than anyone else.’

‘How d’you know that?’ Melanie asked. ‘Does he talk to _you_?’

‘He doesn’t even talk to me,’ Sasha said, impressed. Daisy shrugged.

‘No, he hasn’t said anything to me. I think he still thinks of me as a threat. It’s just how I would feel, if it were me. Isn’t it obvious?’

Not really, Jon thought, but he kept quiet.

‘That does make sense,’ Tim said, tapping his mouth thoughtfully with a quill. ‘He’s a self-sacrificial idiot, I guess.’

Sasha snatched the quill out of his hands. 

‘Don’t put my stuff in your mouth,’ she said. ‘So we need to make more of an effort to reintegrate him back into the group?’

‘And how do we do that, exactly, when he refuses all our invitations and goes running to Lukas like a lapdog every time he calls?’ Melanie asked.

‘We make more of an effort,’ Sasha said, decisively. ‘And the next time we go out, we take him with us.’

Tim and Jon shared a look; it had been the first time in a while that Sasha had mentioned going outside the castle for more than just the tavern. 

‘In the meantime, we’ve got reading to do,’ Sasha said.

*

The rise in rumours of the necromancers in the mountains meant that streams of people came up to the castle, all desperate to get protection spells put on their jewellery and clothes. On top of their own research, the assistants were run ragged, and Jon found himself having to do some of the grunt work too.

He’d never been good at the kind of spell needed to imbue rings and cloaks with spells of magical resistance and improved dexterity, but ever since waking from his long sleep, he’d found it easier. 

He thought that Sasha noticed the difference, Basira too, though neither said anything about his sudden prowess. Tim, of course, was too busy worrying about his own work to notice.

Jon never knew what Daisy was thinking and didn’t bother trying to find out.

Every newcomer had a story about the necromancers; that they’d seen them in the woods, in the fields, in the outskirts of town. None had anything more concrete.

‘This is hopeless!’ Tim cried, flinging his hands up, one late night into research. ‘There’s nothing about a ‘darkness’ ritual, and we have no idea how to stop them.’

‘I’m still backing the ‘go and kill them all’ plan,’ Daisy said. She wasn’t reading, but instead was sharpening her sword. The screech of metal had long since stopped bothering Jon.

‘We can’t,’ he sighed, rubbing his temples. ‘We don’t know how much of the ritual they’ve already got going.’

‘And besides, necromancers are like cockroaches,’ Sasha pointed out. ‘They just keep coming back.’

‘We need to properly destroy their ritual from the ground up,’ Jon said.

‘It’ll be kind of difficult, since we have absolutely nothing on it,’ Tim groaned. ‘And I’ve been reading this tiny script for so long I think my eyes have broken.’

‘It’s late; we should stop for tonight.’ Sasha slammed her giant tome closed. A cloud of dust puffed into the air. ‘Look with fresh eyes tomorrow.’

‘We won’t have any time tomorrow, not if as many people turn up as did today.’ Tim rubbed his eyes furiously, leaving them red and puffy.

Jon just kept on reading, after lighting a new candle.

It was Jon who found it, in the early hours of the morning. Something had drawn him to the old box of notes and journals left by the previous High Wizard at Castle Magnus – the one Elias had murdered in cold blood. He hadn’t been able to stop his eyes from wandering to the box, and eventually his curiosity had pushed him to open it and dig out the notes.

After that, it wasn’t hard to find Gertrude Robinson’s specific notes on necromancers – her personal files, unlike the rest of the library, were in impeccable order – and from there it didn’t take long at all for Jon to find her scribblings about the ancient ritual of the Dark; the Extinguished Sun.

‘An eclipse,’ he breathed.

Tim snorted awake.

‘Have you found something?’ Sasha asked, as she rushed over.

‘I think so. Gertrude knew about this. She’s written it here,’ Jon said, holding out the pages he’d already scanned. Sasha all but snatched them from him.

‘Needs an eclipse,’ she muttered. ‘Well, that gives us some time, I think. There isn’t one in a while.’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ Jon warned. ‘I think they’re at the temple because they’re summoning an ancient god, whose name they don’t speak. They’ve given him the moniker ‘Mr Pitch’. Gertrude didn’t think it a particularly fear-inspiring name.’

‘Wait; so they’re resurrecting this ancient god, or they’re extinguishing the sun?’ Tim asked.

‘I think one facilitates the other,’ Jon said, still reading the notes. ‘Mr Pitch – if they resurrect him, he then has the power to cause an eclipse. I think.’

‘Or rather, Gertrude thinks,’ Sasha added.

‘It gives us something to go on, at least.’ Jon rubbed his face. ‘It’s late; we can pick this up tomorrow.’

There was a flurry of movement. Daisy, inexplicably still in the corner, was off like a shot; Basira followed her shortly after sweeping all her notes into a drawer. Sasha just stretched and yawned. Melanie had long since vanished.

‘What made you look at Gertrude’s old notes?’ Tim asked, as he passed by to a shelf. Jon shrugged.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I just felt like it was the right thing to do.’

*

Martin knew there was something that the others weren’t telling him.

He wasn’t an idiot; the endless reports of necromancers and the flurry of people demanding protection spells were a worrying sign, but this was something else. He barely saw them all – he no longer had to go out of his way to avoid them – and when he did catch a glimpse of their faces, they looked tired, drawn, and pale, as though they weren’t sleeping.

He knew that he had created the distance himself – that he had avoided them all for so long and so thoroughly that they no longer bothered to track him down.

But it stung, just a little, to see them all working as a team, while he loitered on the outside.

All he’d ever wanted was for them all to be a team, in the beginning.

He’d even asked Peter if he could help the others, so overworked from all the extra business the necromancer sightings and rumours were bringing in. Peter had just laughed.

‘Help? What would you do? You’re too volatile to help with the protection magic, Martin. You’re far more useful helping me.’

‘Helping Peter’ involved looking up ancient curses from a long-extinct cult, and it felt more like busywork to Martin, but Peter was very keen on knowing as much as possible about it.

‘I’m getting better,’ Martin pointed out. ‘And they’re researching something, too. I know it.’

He’d snuck into the library after they’d all called it a night. His spellcasting had left him accidentally invisible for a time and he made the most of it. They’d been looking up necromantic rituals. Martin desperately wanted to help.

‘Martin,’ Peter said, his voice disturbingly paternal. ‘Martin, Martin. They don’t need you. They haven’t even asked for your help.’

Martin stared at his feet; Peter’s hand landed heavy and warm on his shoulder. When Martin looked up, Peter’s face was smiling benevolently.

‘But _I_ need you,’ he said.

Martin just nodded.

‘I know,’ he said.

*

They left at sundown, once all the visitors to castle Magnus were long gone. It would take them a day’s journey to get to the temple, and since Sasha’s research had indicated the necromancer’s magic would be weakest at sunrise, they wanted to travel through the night.

No one asked Lord Lukas for permission to go. Nobody could ever find him, even if they actually wanted to ask. Despite this, there was a certain illicit tension in the air as they quietly checked their bags for the trek in the mountains. They met in the courtyard, whispering to one another as they went over their provisions. Horses would not be necessary – they were loud, and not sure of foot in the rocky terrain in the mountains, and so instead they had decided to take the teleportation circle in town.

Jon had filled his bag with spell components, despite not having used any for weeks. He was pondering this fact, looking down at the unused bat guano, when a quiet cough sounded behind them.

‘You’re going?’ Martin asked softly, his face half in shadow as he peered out of the kitchen door. ‘To find the necromancers?’

‘Yes,’ Tim hissed. ‘Are you going to run off and tell _Peter_?’

Martin took a breath and clenched his jaw.

‘I want to come with you,’ he said, firmly, though Jon could see the tremor in his hands. Jon also noticed that Martin had a bag slung over his shoulder, bursting with bottles and rope and pouches of gems. Spell-casting was expensive work.

‘You sure?’ Sasha asked as she tucked two daggers into her belt. She’d been sharpening them all day; they shone bright and deadly in the moonlight.

‘Yes,’ Martin said, swallowing. The tremor was still in his hands, but his voice was steady. ‘I’m sure.’

‘Good.’ Sasha grinned at him. ‘The more the merrier.’

Tim grumbled something rude, and Sasha elbowed him in the ribs.

‘We need to go,’ Basira said, shouldering her pack and looking at the sky. The last of the day’s light was truly gone, and the darkness was almost complete. Once through the portcullis and outside the castle walls, Tim cast lights to guide them down the dark path to town.

They walked in silence; Jon ended up beside Martin, and all the words he wanted to say spun round and around in his mind, deafening him. So caught up in potential conversation as he was, Jon barely noticed the walk go by, and it felt as though he merely blinked and they were already approaching Helen’s house.

Helen was the most powerful wizard in the town not employed at Castle Magnus. She worked alone and had honed teleportation into both a fine art and a business.

She was already outside her house waiting for them.

‘Melanie said you needed a door?’ she said. Her smile was too-large, strangely sideways. It made Jon shudder.

Though her talents in teleportation were beyond any other in that part of the world, she was very rarely solicited for her services. There were rumours that she and her past mentor had spent too long dabbling in planar travel, and the things they’d seen on other planes and in other dimensions had left them… changed. Jon could see it in her eyes; they were wide, slightly vacant, on the verge on manic.

Her mentor had vanished a year or so previously, though Helen seemed unconcerned. The whispers of gossips believed him lost in the planes, mind wandered away with his body.

Jon had often had dealings with Helen’s predecessor, Michael, when he wanted to travel further afield and didn’t trust his own teleportation skills. Michael had been quite mad, and it had come as no surprise to Jon when news reached him of Michael’s disappearance.

Helen had always been the more down-to-earth between the two of them. Even before he disappeared, Michael had spent most of his time dimension-hopping, head in the clouds. Helen had always dealt with the day-to-day minutia of running a viable business.

But the madness was in her too – Jon could sense it. But it was banked. Latent. Simmering beneath her façade.

She looked right at him and smiled as they all approached, as though she knew what he was thinking, and it amused her. He stared right back, and for a second he felt dizzy with vertigo.

Helen laughed, and it echoed strangely in the dark.

‘Oh she did, did she?’ Sasha said, shooting Melanie a look. ‘I suppose you know where we want to go, too, for our _secret_ excursion.’

Melanie had the grace to look a little shame-faced.

‘Oh, of course,’ Helen said. ‘She told it to me over dinner, didn’t you, Melanie?’

In the darkness Melanie’s blush shone like a torch.

‘Speaking of, I believe we said we’d make arrangements for another evening, didn’t we?’ Helen said.

‘If I’m not dead after this,’ Melanie mumbled, though she looked pinkly pleased.

Daisy huffed loudly behind them.

‘Can we get on?’ she asked, impatient. ‘We’ve got a long way to go and we only have until sunrise.’

‘Of course.’ Helen beckoned them in with a low bow, complete with a stylish flourish of her arms. ‘After you.’

They all filed inside. It was a small house made even more cramped by all of them in their armour, bedecked in weaponry. Basira’s Morningstar scraped across a ceiling beam and left a not insignificant scratch in the wood.

Helen slipped past all of them, somehow, and pulled a richly woven rug out from beneath them to reveal an intricately drawn teleportation circle.

‘Close to the cairns on the western side of the mountains, you said?’ Helen asked. Melanie nodded. 

Helen may have been insane, but Jon ha to admit that watching her work was incredible. The portal opened seamlessly, shining bright and clear, a distinct hole in the fabric of space. 

‘Good luck,’ she said, in her sharp, twisting voice.

‘Thanks, we’ll need it,’ Tim replied sardonically as they all stepped through.

The change in air was immediate – the slightly stuffy, dusty still air of Helen’s small house went abruptly to crisp, cool mountain air. There was a strong wind with a cold bite, and Jon hunkered his shoulders, grateful for the thick cloak he’d worn.

He turned to see the portal shut behind them; the last thing he saw before it closed completely was Helen’s smile.

‘Which way now?’ Tim yelled over the wind, holding up a hand over his eyes. 

‘This way!’ Sasha called, the map already flapping around in her hands. ‘Helen’s put us really close by!’

‘We should scout and wait until sunrise to strike,’ Daisy called back.

‘We should probably get there first!’ Tim shouted back.

‘That part was _implied_,’ Daisy snarled.

Jon forgot, for a moment, the strange rift between the group and Martin, and turned to roll his eyes at him.

Martin chuckled. Then he froze, staring at Jon with wide, hopeful eyes. He offered a little smile.

Jon didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where they stood. So he twitched his lips in a vague attempt at a smile, and turned back to the rest of them.

In the end, they just started walking, Tim’s lights guiding them along the treacherous mountain path. They came across the first large cairn less than a mile from their teleportation point, and loitered there while Sasha fought against the wind to locate it on her map.

‘We’re here,’ she said, voice raised to be heard over the weather. She pointed to a spot near the edge of the mountain range. ‘And the temple is just here.’ It was barely three miles away.

‘Thank the gods,’ Tim said. He’d wrapped a scarf around her face and looked distinctly uncomfortable.

‘Half a mile out, we should stop and go over the plan,’ Jon said. 

‘Yeah, especially since some of us have no idea what it is,’ Tim added acidly.

Behind Jon, Martin shifted uncomfortably.

The sky was pinkening as they drew close to the ancient temple. Sasha guided them to a rocky outcropping from where they could watch the temple, and hopefully track the movements of the necromancers nearby.

‘So; we go in, we kill them all, we stop them from resurrecting Mr Pitch.’ Daisy shrugged. ‘Seems pretty simple to me.’

‘You’re just charging in?’ Martin asked, horror in his voice.

‘No, of course not.’ Basira rolled her eyes. ‘We’re going to wait ‘til sunrise, when they’re weak, and we’ll lure them out with an offensive spell, and _then_ we’ll charge in.’

‘Good luck with that,’ said a cold, amused voice from behind them. 

Jon spun around with the others and saw the ripples of an invisibility spell wear off. It revealed a woman in necromancer robes, her hands already crackling with energy.

‘Pity you’ll sleep through sunrise,’ she said, and the energy shot out, hitting all of them at once. Before he could cry out, before he could even move, darkness crept across Jon’s vision, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

He dreamt of a void sparkling with eyes like stars.

*

Jon woke slowly, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. The stone against his cheek was rough and cold. When he finally lifted his head and opened his eyes, he realised why; there were heavy manacles and chains around his wrists and ankles.

He dragged himself upright and took stock. He was sitting behind a huge stone sarcophagus, roughly hewn, that glittered with specks of obsidian. The dark chains on his limbs were long and heavy and pooled around him. 

The inside of the temple was small but the roof was high and rounded, carved with small stone bosses in the shapes of small suns and stars. The stone was dark and cold, the only light coming from the wide-open doors. It was bright outside, and through a small round hole at the very centre of the temple roof Jon could see the noon sun.

Muffled noises of panic caught his attention, and he looked to see the rest of the party, bound and gagged with rope rather than the dark metal chains around him. They were all looking at him with panicked eyes.

‘You’re awake. Excellent.’

The woman who’d caught them stepped out of the thick shadows behind Jon; he had to crane his neck to see her. 

‘Just in time,’ said a man, appearing from the other side. More and more necromancers stepped forward, all in their dark robes.

As one, they raised their arms. Jon felt the chains moved around him; they were being hoisted up, through some strange old pulley system. Slowly, jerkily, he was raised into the air and held, suspended, just above the sarcophagus.

Jon knew he should be scared. Should be terrified, even. But strangely, as he hung, suspended, in the centre of a dark ritual, he felt curiously detached from it all.

The muffled noises from his companions grew louder. Sasha and Tim were visibly struggling in their bonds. Daisy looked mad as a caged wolf. Martin was absolutely still, staring at Jon, his eyes so wide and so terrified Jon could barely look at him.

Two burly-looking necromancers heaved open the heavy stone lid of the sarcophagus, revealing a shrivelled, mummified body. The malevolent magic emanating from it made Jon’s teeth ache.

Then the chanting began, rising and rising as they grew in fervour. Jon just hung in the air, waiting.

A scuffle broke out as Daisy tore free from her bindings and made quick work of Basira’s ropes. Melanie had also managed to wriggle free, and the three of them were struggling forward against the swarm of black-robed necromancers holding them back.

The chanting reached a crescendo, a fever pitch, drowning out the sounds of the fight. The woman behind Jon screamed the last few words in their strange, primordial language, and then the sword pierced through Jon and burst from his chest.

‘Jon!’ Basira screamed.

It hurt, but it felt distant, as though Jon’s mind were divorced from his body. His limbs hung limply in the chains as the blood began to cascade down onto the stone sarcophagus. Jon’s world went blurry, and he could vaguely see a figure rising from the sarcophagus.

As his vision failed, he heard an almighty rumble, as the earth shook around him.

*

He drifted in the dark.

The eyes blinked at him impassively.

‘Come on,’ he spat, ‘bring me back!’ 

Silence answered him.

‘Bring me back!’ he screamed. ‘I need to go back! I need to stop him – the others…. I need to go back.’

The eyes watched him, impassively.

‘I’ll serve you,’ Jon said, defeated. ‘I said I would, and I will. I’ll be completely, utterly yours.’

The silence closed in on him, oppressive.

‘Just take me back,’ he whispered.

Eyes began to open, more eyes, opening and opening until there was no darkness but only the lights of millions of eyes.

The brightness overwhelmed him, and he shut his own eyes, holding them tightly closed.

*

His eyes opened, and he was still suspended in the air in chains, watching as his friends cowered from the looming dark form of Mr Pitch. They were against the wall, surrounded by a spiderweb of cracks in the stone floor of the temple. The arched roof was also broken in two, and rocks were still falling down in the wreckage. Many necromancers lay under such rocks, feebly twitching, but Jon barely spared them a glance.

His body crackled with power – the feeling was heady and strange. The chains fell away from his arms and legs, almost like an afterthought, and he floated gently over to where Mr Pitch was threatening his friends.

‘Your dark holiness!’ the woman was shouting, ‘take these sacrifices to sustain you, so that you may extinguish the sun and bring your darkness to the world!’

Jon lifted a hand and the woman was thrown backwards into the wall. She slumped to the floor, head at an unnatural angle.

‘Jon!’ Sasha screamed, in relief and terror.

Mr Pitch turned, and his dark smile cut a line into his decayed face.

‘The overseer is a paltry god,’ he sneered. ‘Now I am back in the world, not even your glorified eyeball can stop me.’

Jon didn’t have time for god trash talking; his friends were in danger.

‘It’s noon,’ he said, simply. ‘You have very little power.’

‘And I will bring an eclipse with the lifeblood of your people and plunge the world of men into darkness!’

‘You won’t,’ Jon said, simply, and he reached inside to the new pool of knowledge in his mind and spoke a word of power.

Mr Pitch froze, eyes wide, and crumbled into dust.

‘That was anticlimactic,’ Jon said, as he floated gently downwards. As his feet brushed against the wrecked stone floor he ran his eyes over his friends – they all looked shaken and covered in dust, but none looked hurt. Then he realised.

‘What happened, while I was out? Where’s _Martin_?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ Sasha said fretfully. ‘He… after you… when we thought you were dead…’

‘He cast a spell, a powerful spell… an earthquake,’ Tim said, taking over. ‘It destroyed the temple, pretty much, killed most of the necromancers. But then…’

‘He vanished,’ Basira said. ‘Just vanished into thin air.’

Jon found himself enveloped in a hug. Sasha was holding him fiercely.

‘Don’t die again, please,’ she whispered into his ear.

‘It’s getting pretty old,’ Tim said, coming forward and wrapping his arm around Sasha.

Jon just nodded distractedly as he looked around at the wreckage of the temple.

‘Martin did this?’ he asked.

They all nodded.

‘I didn’t think he had it in him, either,’ Daisy said.

‘And then he… he just vanished?’

‘Jon,’ Basira said. ‘You… you _died_.’

‘The overseer and I have an arrangement,’ Jon said. ‘There’s no need to worry about it. We need to find Martin.’

‘Jon, you were dead,’ Basira continued.

‘Yes I know,’ Jon said, ‘but that’s not the most pressing issue right now!’

‘I think it’s pretty pressing!’ Basira shouted back.

There was a loud crack, and everyone jumped.

‘The roof’s falling down!’ Melanie called.

‘No; look!’ Sasha pointed. ‘It’s… Martin?’

A figure had appeared on the floor, a few metres away from the rest of them. It was curled into a foetal position and shook as though sobbing.

‘Martin?’ Jon asked softly.

The figure sniffed and looked up.

‘Jon?’ Martin breathed. ‘You… but…’

Jon stumbled forward and fell to his knees next to Martin, dragging him into a hug.

‘Where have you been?’ Jon asked.

‘You’re alive,’ Martin said, tears still streaming down his face. ‘You’re… how are you alive?’

‘He’s made some kind of devil’s bargain with a great old one,’ Basira said, sharply, from somewhere behind them. ‘Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.’

Jon just ignored her.

‘How did you do this?’ Jon asked, pulling back and gesturing to the ruined temple. ‘Where were you?’

Martin sniffed and hiccupped.

‘I… I’ve been working on my magic,’ he said. ‘But sometimes, when I do stronger spells, there are… side effects. When I cast that earthquake, when you… when I saw that you… well, the side effect was that I went to the astral plane for a minute.’

‘You _what_?’

‘They aren’t all so bad,’ Martin said hurriedly. ‘Once I couldn’t speak for an hour – pink bubbles came out of my mouth when I tried.’

‘You have wild magic?’ Jon asked.

Martin shrugged.

‘So you’re a sorcerer?’

‘I think so – that’s what Pe – Lord Lukas thinks, anyway. I’ve been learning how to mitigate the effects so I can come with you more. So I can keep you all safe.’

‘You did, Martin,’ Sasha said, dropping down beside them both. She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You did.’

Tim joined them on the floor, and they hugged in a strange, lopsided fashion. On the other side of the temple, Daisy sidled closer to Basira. Basira took her hand. Melanie started cleaning her knives.

‘We should get back,’ Jon muttered, half-smothered by Martin and Sasha.

‘Soon,’ Tim said, reaching around to pat his shoulder. He missed and ended up patting Jon’s ear instead. ‘Just… just give it a minute.’

Jon shrugged, leant forwards and pressed his forehead against Martin’s, and closed his eyes.

‘Should we be worrying about you? And the overseer?’ Martin asked in a whisper.

‘Maybe,’ Jon admitted. 

‘We’ll deal with that when we get back,’ Sasha said. ‘Together.’

Jon didn’t think it would be that easy, but he liked the sound of it, and so he let himself relax.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the mods of the Big Bang - once again it was an incredible experience! And thanks again to Saphizzle for bringing my strange AU ramblings to life with her beautiful artwork.


End file.
